e a lynx, and she could even make out his features.

'Is it he?' Sarrasin asked in a whisper. He had keen sight himself, but
he preferred after long experience to trust to the eyes of his wife.

'It is he,' she answered; 'now we shall see.'

They sat quietly side by side on a bench under the dark trees a little
away from the bridge. Nobody could easily see them--no one passing
through the park or bound on any ordinary business would be likely to
pay any attention to them even if he did see them. It was no part of
Mrs. Sarrasin's purpose that they should be so placed as to be
absolutely unnoticeable. If Mr. Hamilton should appear on the bridge she
would then simply touch Sarrasin's arm, and they would quietly get up
and go home together. But suppose--what she fully expected--that someone
should appear who was not Hamilton, and should make for the bridge, and
in passing should see her husband and her, and thereupon should slink
off in another direction, then she should have seen the man, and could
identify him among a thousand for ever after. In that event Sarrasin and
she could then consider what was next to be done--whether to go at once
to Ericson and tell him of what they had seen, or to wait there and keep
watch until he had gone away, and then follow quietly in his track until
they had seen him safely home. One thing Mrs. Sarrasin had made up her
mind to: if there was any assassin plot at all, and she believed there
was, it would be a safe and certain assassination tried when no watching
eyes were near.

The Dictator meanwhile was leaning over the bridge and looking into the
water. He was not thinking much about the water, or the sky, or the
scene. He was not as yet thinking even of whether Hamilton was coming or
not. He was, of course, a little puzzled by the terms of Hamilton's
telegram, but there might be twenty reasons why Hamilton should wish to
meet him before he reached home, and as Hamilton knew well his fancy for
night lounges on that bridge, and as the park lay fairly well between
Captain Sarrasin's house and the region of Paulo's Hotel, it seemed
likely enough that Hamilton might select it as a convenient place of
meeting. In any case, the Dictator was not by nature a suspicious man,
and he was not scared by any thoughts of plots, and mystifications, and
personal danger. He was a fatalist in a certain sense--not in the
religious, but rather in the physical sense. He had a sort of
wild-grown, general th